Fairytales: the Compilation Album
by Truelove and Truelove
Summary: There are no cliches here, reader! Oh, who am I kidding? Take a little bit of this, a bit of that, bibbity bobbity boo and...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer 1: The opinions expressed in this fanfiction are in no way reflective of those of the Truelove and Truelove agency as a whole, but are merely those of one of its more deranged members. The agency will accept no responsibility for its secretary's work.

Disclaimer 2: I don't own anything in this that belongs to someone else. Obviously.

There are no clichés here, reader! This is no fairy tale! There will be no happy endings here, please. There will be no gruesome chopping of limbs! Instead, there will be sterilized corridors, mafia underworlds, cocaine in plentiful supply. The world has changed, reader. We no longer have time for 'Once upon a time…'

Once upon a time…

Okay, let's try that again.

Once upon a time…

Okay…

Once upon a time…

What the –

Once upon a time…

FU-

Once upon a time…

Okay, I don't know why this is happening. I keep on trying to write 'This morning, June the seventeenth, at ten twenty-three precisely, and certainly not in some vague, unspecified fairy-tale time which is only used so that the author can protect themselves against being sued for glaring anachronisms'. But what comes out is

Once upon a time…

Although wait, I DID just write my beginning, so maybe this time-

Once upon a time…

Okay, this is weird and repetitive, never a good combination. Maybe I should just stop…or…. I guess I can cope with

Once upon a time…there was a castle. No, there wasn't! There was a hotel. Yeah. What am I talking about? Anyway, in the…hotel, in the room at the very top of the tallest, ivy-covered towe- wait! I mean…in the penthouse suite…in the penthouse suite, there slept a…p…a…pr…princess! Prostitute! I meant…

Oh, whatever. I give up. As we all know, the world has not changed, people have not changed, and so stories cannot change. So prepare yourself for every cliché in the magic book. Princesses? You got 'em (though princess and prostitute are not, as we shall see, mutually exclusive terms). Glass slipper? I'll give you pairs! And lots of gruesome bits too. That's right, reader. It's time for…

Fairy tales

The compilation album

Once upon a time, in a far away land, there lived a king and queen. The king and queen loved each other very much, and would have been happy, were it not for one thing. They were childless. They both desperately longed for a child, so much so that they could not think about anything else. They'd wanted a child since the moment they got married. Because of this, they had never been able to think about anything else, certainly not sex. But despite all their prayers, despite all their silent pleas as they lay in their huge bed (around three meters away from each other) they just could not get pregnant. They'd stolen all the herbs from the garden of the witch who lived next door, and even some of her tulips, but it did no good! Neither did pricking their fingers, cleaning their lamps, putting out milk for the brownies, being kind to little animals or gutting fish to search their innards for golden rings. In short, they were at a loss.

One day, in desperation, the queen when to visit her mother's grave. This was somewhat strange, as her mother was still alive – she lived in Woking. What had happened was this. The queen had been in love with the king when she was a teenager, but he'd had a thing for Cinderella (coughfootfetishfootfetish). So, to make herself seem like a tragic heroine, the queen had pretended that her mother was dead, and had even constructed a tomb for her. Now, crazed by her inability to get a sprog, the queen hurried here to pray for guidance. On her way, she met a wizened old man who told her that he would grant her one wish. But she really had no time for him – all she could think about was getting to her mother's grave, so she could wish and pray - and anyway, he had a funny, foreign-sounding name. Then she met a woman with a broomstick, a black cat, a pointy hat, a cauldron, a toad and a copy of "Harry Potter', who promised her her heart's desire. But the queen had no idea how someone dressed like this could possibly help her, so she hurried on her way. She also went past a sperm bank. 'God,' she thought (and she was being sincere, not blasphemous like we are today) 'I need a child so much!' Then she went past an adoption agency. 'Seriously, any child would do!' But after that, the queen had to stop appealing sincerely to God, because she had reached her mother's grave, and her mother had never liked her speaking to strange men, particularly those who enjoyed making the Holy Spirit move in young virgins.

After the queen had sat on the tombstone ('R.I.P. mother,' it read 'wherever you are. I know I'll see you again') for a while, and a few animals had come to talk to her, it started to rain so she went into the little church in the graveyard. Under the altar (no, she was not being nosy and looking at God's secret places, she had dropped her…queen ring) she found a stack of the parson's magazines. And, as she was idly flipping through these…stimulating publications, the queen suddenly realised that the tool with which she would realise her desires lay within her grasp…and she intended to grasp it!


	2. Absolutely Nothing In Return

I'm going to be posting up the four plot-making chapters up in the next two days, before I go on holiday. But first…

Wow! Thank you to people for reviewing. If I ever sleep with the right people to win an Oscar (only method available to me), I will definitely mention:

Daemon Cat: And if you have any more of those questions, please ask and they can also be answered. I hope the cracking up wasn't too painful.

Natalie Darke: Thanks, the once upon a time thing started this whole fanfiction.

EvenSong: I think highly entertaining is a VERY intelligent and constructive thing to say. Hope you'll say it again, but…

…maybe not, though…I found the next two chapters hardest to write, and the four (count 'em) chapters I'll be posting over the next couple of days (that's including these two) are mainly just getting a proper plot going, so they may be less funny than the ones after that when I'll start to really parody princesses. But hopefully the plot will be good. Woo!

P.S.: I've started reading some of your fanfictions and I love them. Not that I'm like, addicted to fanfiction. Meh,

**Disclaimer: I don't own fairytales…do I even own this scarytale? Am I even alive? Cue X-files music.**

Nearly nine months had passed when the king had to leave on a business trip – the peasants were revolting, and he was trying to organise a general bath (groan – favourite pun of the history teachers). The queen, who was heavily pregnant after her divine inspiration (yes, it was divine…snigger) and looked like she might seriously just pop out a kid literally any minute now, like a slot-machine, kissed him good bye. "Now remember, in case our child is born before you come back, I'm going to call it 'Absolutely Nothing In Return' because that works for a girl or a boy, okay?"

"Sure, sweetie" murmured the king, not really listening.

Having dealt with the business, the king began the journey home. On the way, he realised he'd left his travel copy of 'Harry Potter' at the hotel. How irritating to have to wait until he got home to discover what Harry had scored on his O.W.L.s. But he need not have worried. At that very moment a woman walked by, with a broomstick etc and, most importantly, a copy of 'Harry Potter' (predictably random coincidences being the life and breath of fairy tales).

The king stuck his head out of the carriage. Clearly, the woman was a peasant, the warts attested to that (and if not a peasant at least an ugly sister, which, for personal reasons, the king found an even more unappealing prospect).

"I say, good woman," he began, trying hard not to make her feel demeaned and thus expose himself to numerous lawsuits, "you may not know" – things seemed to be going well, and he gained confidence – "as you surely can't read, but what you have there is a book. If you will give it to me, I will reward to handsomely." Noticing the desperate gleam in the king's eyes, the witch (please don't tell me you didn't pick up on that) smiled. "Oh course, fine sir," she simpered "but don't worry about the reward. In fact, I want you to swear that if I give you the book, you will give me Absolutely Nothing In Return."

Aren't capitals handy?

The king, astounded at his good fortune, promptly swore that he would give her exactly what she asked for and snatched the book. 'He managed an 'Exceeds Expectations!'' he whooped, scanning its pages before ordering his driver to make like a banana and split. Left eating his dust, the witch coughed, then grinned. She had always longed for a girl to call her own. It looked as though all her dreams were about to come true…

The whole court had turned out for the king's return. The queen stood beaming, her baby daughter Absolutely Nothing In Return clutched in her arms. As the king's carriage pulled to a halt, he leapt out to embrace his beloved wife, stopping short at the sight of the child and smiling widely (he would have beamed, but this would have been too repetitive). "Our daughter," the queen informed him, "Absolutely Nothing In Return."

The king paled as fear tightened his stomach. What had he done? Had he really sworn away his firstborn daughter? Suddenly, with a puff of purple smoke, the witch appeared and the king saw that had his question was about to be answered

"Give me the child!" she commanded (Yup, thought the king miserably, that was exactly what he'd done) managing to combine cackling with speaking to form a horrible hybrid that would these days be sure to get her a padded cell and a jumper with very long sleeves.

"Oh!" smiled the queen. "How nice, darling of my life. She wants to bless our daughter. Actually, that reminds me, we must get the fairy blessings sorted out for the christening. Apparently you can register at parlours, like we did for our marriage, and make a list of the gifts you'd like her to receive. So you could put down beauty, or grace. It's to make sure she doesn't get stuck with something silly like common sense, do you see, dove? I've invited all the fairies in the kingdom, except of course for the wicked, nasty, evil fairy. But I'm sure she won't mind. Anyway, she's hardly likely to do something wicked, nasty or evil to ruin the big day, is she?" At this point, the queen was forced to stop, because all the time she'd been speaking the witch had continued to cackle (she knew what was expected of her) and had now turned a rather distressing shade of blue. Hurriedly, the queen handed over Absolutely Nothing In Return. The witch had got exactly what she had been promised. With a puff of smoke – green, this time, for variation - she vanished, leaving behind her a stunned silence and a king who had a lot of explaining to do.


	3. Anir

**Disclaimer: OK, I am alive, but apparently I sold this fairytale to the wicked witch when I was drunk. So I own shiot.**

All in all, being stolen by the witch was probably the best thing that could have happened to the princess. Firstly, the witch thought that Absolutely Nothing In Return was a stupid name for a boy _or_ a girl, so she called her Anir, which was a definite improvement. And although she never got the power to spin (not even wool, let alone straw into gold) or talk to animals, she was not completely gift-less (as we shall very soon see).

But of course, she was lonely. The witch kept Anir locked in a tall tower (because some things are just traditional), and never let her meet another person. You don't get to be a witch without being plenty smart, and so she made sure that the princess got regular haircuts and did not allow her to come into contact with any friendly dwarves (which was not very p.c. of her), friendly old men (which was probably very wise of her), talkative fish, talkative mice or pumpkins. So all in all, though Anir wasn't too badly off, she was, in a word, stuck.

And as she grew older, a nagging doubt began to grow in her mind. Was this really how people lived? Was it normal to spend your life cooped up in a tower? At the age of six, after the witch had taught her to read, Anir decided that it was certainly not normal. Normal children ran around solving mysteries in groups of prime numbers. The only mystery for Anir to solve was why she wasn't allowed to do the same. By the time she was fifteen, Anir still hadn't worked this out. Although she had moved on from Enid Blyton.

The witch often told Anir that, though she had always longed for a girl to keep her company, she had despaired of ever finding one until she had come across little baby Anir deep in the heart of the woods (as we know, this last bit was far from true, but the witch had in fact searched the woods once – she'd found one dead, half-eaten baby, though many more had already been taken in by wolves, as is the usual procedure). When Anir asked her about the despair, the witch had told her that in such a rural community it had been very hard to meet anyone who shared her sentiments.

"You mean men were frightened of you because you were a witch?" Anir had asked.

"No, no, it was easy enough to meet _men_," the witch had replied.

"But you didn't meet one you liked enough?"

"I didn't like any of them. I just don't like men."

And that, Anir supposed, was the reason that the witch kept her locked up in the tower. So that she wouldn't meet these horrible men. Men like those she had read about, who had strange names like Heathcliff, Gulliver, Frodo and – most disturbingly of all – Dick. What other possible reason could there be for keeping a girl inside a tower to which only you had the key? So that she was in your power? So that she was your captive? So that you could mould her into whatever you wanted? Could that be the reason? No, Anir decided, she was being silly. The flowers, chocolates, jewellery and silk negligees the witch kept giving her showed that the she must have her best interests at heart.


	4. Politically Incorrect

Disclaimer: I don't own fairytales, but I own the plot because heigh, ho the witch is dead!

Two more chapters before I go on holiday!

Thanks to Natalie Darke and EvenSong for continuing to read and review. I'm like a fuzzy ball of happiness, except not fuzzy (although I am all too ball-shaped). EvenSong, I hope you like Anir's…dark side as well as her cuteness. If not, don't worry – the cute part's still there and in the next chapter after these two we'll probably see it when she meets…but that would be telling!

And what about the heartbroken king and queen, Anir's parents? Well, they didn't stay heartbroken for too long. Now they'd finally worked out how to have children, they certainly weren't going to stop, and in no time at all (well, 7 times 9 months, to be precise…it played havoc with the queen's pelvic floor muscles) they had seven sons, the youngest of whom was now ten years old and called Mike (the King and Queen having learnt their lesson in this department). But, although they loved their sons dearly, the royals had to admit that they were growing to be quite a problem. Or rather, they were not growing at all. And that _was_ the problem.

When you were young, your parents might have told you that if you didn't eat up all your vegetables bad things would happen. I'm afraid that that wasn't very politically correct of them. Please understand that I mean no disrespect to your carers, but with such cautionary tales they were simply propagating the myth that it is a bad thing to be different. And by different, I mean…small. Vertically challenged, if you will. Of reduced stature. Please understand that by this I do not mean petite or sylph-like. The princes were known, by their parents and by the entire kingdom, as the seven dwarves. And all because they had never, in all their seven lives, eaten a single vegetable. Now the king and queen, just like your very own parents who couldn't give a fig about political correctness, thought that it was not cool to be small. And they let the whole kingdom know this. As soon as the result of their sons' aversion to legumes became apparent, they put out that they would give a reward to anyone who could solve the problem.

Half the kingdom and the hand of the eldest son, Henry, was the promised prized. The king had argued that that sort of reward was only applicable if you had too many princesses for your own good. The queen argued that that sort of reward was hardly likely to attract any men who might be inclined to help. Their chief adviser scowled at that, and said that in times like these one never did know. He told the royals that there was no room for discussion – the reward was traditional, and tradition could not be argued with. But it did them no good. Fairy godmothers and kitchen maids alike tried and failed. And so it came to seem that the seven small princes would simply have to grow up – I mean…mature – and learn to accept their heights with dignity.

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

When she looked back later in life, Anir could not remember exactly what had happened to make her want to escape the witch's tower. Did she make the decision when she found that, due to her sedentary lifestyle, she could no longer fit into her favourite gown, perhaps? Or was it made when she realised that she could no longer stand the witch's massages? Most likely it was turning sixteen that did it – there has always been something about that age that turns girls' heads to rebellion. Whatever the reason, she made up her mind to free herself. Prior to this, Anir had never _really_ set her mind to anything. But as soon as she did, it became clear that she was very decisive – she quickly fixed on a course of action and was determined to see it through to the end. Decisiveness was her defining characteristic in the same way that other princesses have been categorised by their hairstyles, complexions, narcolepsy and general cleanliness. The moment she decided to escape, something snapped inside her.

Snap!

Or perhaps it was more of a…

Snip!

No, it was more like…

Snick!

Snitch?

Svick?

If the snapping had been a colour, it would have been silvery-brown.

With a hint of purple.

But I digress.

When I say that something snapped inside her, I don't mean that a part of her anatomy broke in a painful and possibly fatal way. I mean that it was if she divided in two. Not literally, this isn't sci-fi. But from this point onwards, there were two Anirs – one who would in time come to be called ruthless, scheming and a expletive deleted, and another girl, who watched what later came to pass with innocent eyes and a kind of horrified fascination. Some people – even some who knew her well - would claim that this second Anir never existed, and indeed she was rather shy at the moment, so for now it was the tougher girl who was firmly in control.

She plucked a large quantity of hairs from her (crew-cut) head and twisted them to form a narrow, but immensely strong, thread (it shone like spun gold, of course, but that is bye-the-bye). When the witch next came to visit her, she waited till her back was turned as she prepared the massage oils then slipped the cord around the woman's neck and pulled it tight. At that point in her life, this Anir was not as ruthless as she would later come to be, and so she did not pull it quite tight enough to throttle her. But all the same, as you can imagine, the witch was having no little trouble with her breathing. "Will you let me go," Anir told her. You might expect that to have been a question, phrased as it was with the words 'will you' preceding her demand. But not only did Anir pay little attention to the rules of good grammar, she was also, as has been mentioned, very decisive. And having decided that she was going to escape, Anir was certainly not going to give the witch a chance to say 'No'.

"Why?" asked the witch, and this _was_ a question, a single syllable filled with love and pleading. Anir did not for a moment loosen the noose.

"I want to see the world," she told the witch "and most importantly I want to see something of these men. They can't be as bad as you say." They were far worse, as she would later find out.

"I'll make you a bargain. I'll release you for a year and a day. You find a man good enough that you can love him in that time, bring him to me and I'll let you keep your freedom. If not, you'll come and live with me again, just as I choose." Anir considered this. On the one hand, she could kill the witch now and have done with it. But this side of Anir was almost as proud as it was decisive. And she longed to prove the witch wrong, to prove that men could love and be loved. To show her.

"Alright," she agreed, "but you must promise not to hinder me. In fact, promise to help me if I ask."

"I promise," the witch told her. And so Anir was free to ruin her life as she saw fit.


	5. Tattyrattyrags

**Disclaimer: Do I look like the brothers Grimm? Don't answer that!**

Anir went to the city to get a taste of life. There, she found that if you were going to taste any _food_ at all, you needed money. And so Anir, who was used to having everything provided for her, was forced to take on a job as a scullery maid (in the palace, of course). As she had never learnt to cook or clean, she was deemed fit only for the most menial occupations. She soon became very dirty from these tedious (to describe, as well as to perform, so I won't bother) tasks, and her clothes worn. The other maids called her Tattyrattyrags (because in that society, as in ours, fashion was most important and people were defined by what they wore, or what they got on themselves from sleeping in the fireplace – this means you, Cinderella). Needless to say, Anir hated this. The ruthless side of her became tougher, harder, while her sweeter nature became shier and, as a result, less visible to those around her. Anir was determined to improve her situation. And what better way to do so, she thought, than to win the reward the king and queen of that city were offering to whoever could get their seven dwarves to like vegetables.

Anir did not have to ponder her strategy for long. One day, while she was collecting firewood, she came upon a little hut with a little garden. In this little garden were growing the biggest, juiciest lettuces that she had ever seen. Her first thought was that no one could fail to be tempted by them, and so without a second thought she plucked seven from the ground, ran to the city and presented them to the king and queen. To their delight, the seven dwarves could not resist the lettuces, and it soon became clear that Anir should claim the reward.

And so without further ado Prince Henry and Anir, whom (despite her cunning disguise of ball gown and glass slippers) everyone easily recognised as Tattyrattyrags, were married. Does this seem wrong to you, reader? Strange, that a brother and sister should get married? Strange and wrong as it most certainly was (though we can't blame Anir – she didn't know, and besides, we'll have enough to blame her for later) the situation would only get worse.

For on the evening of the day on which Anir and Henry were married, the very same day that she had found the lettuces, the witch who had grown them came to court. She'd followed Anir's scent (there was a pungent smell to her when she was Tattyrattyrags) right into the great hall

"She's stolen my lettuces!" she screeched, pointing at Anir

"Steal is such an _ugly_ word," the girl replied.

Undeterred, the witch told the courtiers, the king and the queen that these had been her prized lettuces, which she had been growing for a show. "I am sorry," the queen apologised, "but those lettuces were taken to cure my sons of a dreadful malady. We will pay you handsomely for them."

But that, this witch seethed, was not the point. Those lettuces had been her chance of defeating Mrs. Blenkinsop, three times winner of the lettuce prize. And so there was nothing for it. She turned the seven princes into geese.

Anir, the thief, she left alone. But she was hardly unpunished – she was now married not only to her brother (though she didn't know this yet) but also to a goose! Though it was discovered that the princes did turn back into dwarves during the night this hardly helped, as they used up so much energy being geese during the day that they immediately fell deeply asleep. A goose girl was hired to care for them. She was thought to be the best goose girl in all the land, and seemed to have a curious affinity with geese. Her name was Odette, and the reason she got on so well with the birds was that, at night, she herself became a swan. She was especially friendly with Arthur, the second oldest prince and was sure that she could detect real admiration in his black, beady eyes when he looked at her. But, as is so common in our own society, they were kept apart by their different schedules. During the day, one was bird, the other human. During the night, the situation was reversed. It seemed doomed from the start.

Doomed was an adjective that could also be applied to Anir.

"Geese!" cried the queen, "geese! That's worse than dwarves!"

"I can't help but feel partly responsible – " Anir began.

"Partly responsible?" the king rudely interrupted "You're entirely responsible – this whole thing is your fault!"

"My fault? You're the ones to blame!" Anir roared, her earlier sympathy dissipating, "No children like vegetables! It's the parents' job to force them to eat them! You shouldn't have been so indulgent." The king was momentarily stymied, allowing Anir to continue. "As I was saying, as I feel partly – _partly_ – responsible, I'll do what I can to help."

And so Anir, Odette and the seven geese turned up on the doorstep of the witch's tower.

"I need that help you promised," Anir told the witch. "I've turned the seven princes of the nearest city into geese. Naturally their parents are somewhat peeved, and in addition to that the eldest prince is my husband and it's less convenient for me if he's a bird. So, could you, you know, turn them back?"

"You..." the witch began. She was going to continue with "you've married your brother!" but as it was clear Anir didn't know, she reconsidered. Perhaps it would be better if she never found out. The witch cared for Anir, and she didn't want to think about what that knowledge might do to her. So she recovered herself.

"You've succeeded in your quest remarkably quickly," she said instead. For indeed, only a month after leaving the tower, Anir had returned with a husband in tow. Granted, he was both her brother and a goose, but is anyone perfect?

"Oh, don't worry, I don't love him, and those were the terms. No, this is purely a marriage of convenience. Which is precisely why this inconvenience" – here she gestured to the geese, who were clustered round Odette's legs – "is so irksome."

"Well, I'll see what I can do – I did promise, after all," the witch replied. Screwing up her eyes, she chanted an incantation. There was a sharp POP! She opened her eyes again.

"Frogs!" wailed Odette, cradling a newly slimy Arthur. "You've turned them into frogs!"

"Frogs are worse that geese!" shouted Anir.

"No, no," the witch reassured them, "frogs are easy. All you have to do is find a princess to kiss each of them."

"Seven princesses?" whispered Odette.

"Probably easier than finding one princess who'll kiss seven frogs," Anir told her, "but actually I have an idea which means we might not have to do either."

That night the two girls (plus the seven frogs – the princes didn't seem to change back at night any more, making them a lot easier to carry…what do you mean, random plot device for convenience! I'm hurt!) went fishing in a little boat.

"Remind me again why we're doing this?" asked Odette, lowering the net.

"We're going to catch a fish. It will be big, sparkly and probably able to talk. It'll plead with us for its life. Then we'll gut it" – she said this with relish – " and get the magic ring it's swallowed out of its innards. You'll do that last bit," she informed the goose girl, happy to talk down to Odette now that she was married to the heir apparent. Odette had no chance to respond, because at that moment they felt a tug on the net, as though they'd caught something big. Together, they hauled the catch up.

"Release me! Put me back!" the catch screamed. They were expecting a fish. They were half right.

The mermaid glared at them. She seemed to be having trouble breathing. "I'm a princess! A king's daughter! I demand that you put me back!" The other two shook their heads, and the mermaid visibly crumpled. "Please," she begged, "I'll do anything you ask!"

"Hey!" exclaimed Odette, "If she's a princess, she can kiss one of the frogs." She covered Arthur protectively with her hand.

"No, I've been thinking and if I'm going to get into the king and queen's good books, they'll have to come back with wives."

"Well, what's wrong with her?"

"Do you know how fish reproduce?" There was an uncomfortable pause. Then, "We want a ring that grants wishes," Anir informed the mermaid.

"Done!" she gasped, pulling a golden band from her finger and with that Anir heaved her into the sea. "Seven wishes, that's good for. Quality stuff. But no wishing people in love or dead, right? It's not insured for that. Oh, and no wishing frogs to turn into people, OK? I spelled it so it wouldn't do that, because I like frogs way more than people."

"Of course," Anir growled, "that would just be too easy."

"Also, because otherwise we wouldn't have a story. And that would be bad. Very bad," the mermaid giggled before diving down beneath the waves.

"What do we do now?" asked Odette.

"The plot's been rushing along at such a lightning speed that I think we could all use a break before we get into the main business of princess finding," said Anir wisely.

A/N

Yay! Long chapter. If I come back after the hols and find lots of reviews, I'll continue happily. If I come back and find only one review, which then turns out to be a flame that comments on my personal hygiene, I'll still continue happily because I actually like writing this!


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